Off the Record
by ifonly13
Summary: She's going to shoot him. :: Based on a prompt from somewalkquiet on tumblr.


_**Off the Record**_

* * *

She's going to shoot him.

This time she's going to do it. No teasing about pulling her weapon on him or letting him talk his way out of it. It's going to be for real this time. Even Ryan and Esposito, maybe even Gates, wouldn't charge her for the murder of the writer sitting next to her.

"Look! This fin-thing definitely stabilizes it way more than those other ones," he says, pushing the paper airplane into her face.

Her hands tighten into fists, one on her knee, the other around the computer's mouse. Her eyes close because the last thing she wants to see is the stupid airplane he made from the nearly-completed paperwork – the paperwork she still needs to file and just how professional will all of the stupid creases look? "Castle…" she grinds out, focusing on the computer so she isn't even a little tempted to punch him.

"But seriously. I think this might work." He's continuing as if he can't tell just how pissed off she is getting. "Because the others wobbled in the air but this addition just might fix that. Here," he says, picking up one of the abandoned planes and setting it in front of her. "You throw that one and I'll -"

The airplane hits him in the face. When it bounces off his brow and falls back onto the desk, Beckett snags it back up.

"Hey! What was that -"

And then the crumbled up remains of the paper airplane hit him again.

"Beckett!"

"How old are you?" she asks harshly. He looks surprised as she turns on him, eyes narrowed.

He stutters, blinking. "I… uh…"

"I am trying to work. I've got two cases to file, a trial to prep for, and who knows if another case will be called in. And what are you doing?" she asks.

Silence. She figures it is mostly shock from the way his mouth is hanging open. Good.

"You're making paper airplanes. From my paperwork. And what were you doing half an hour ago before you decided that researching the perfect design for said paper airplanes was the best use of police resources?" She fishes the rubber band ball from the top drawer of her desk. "Throwing this at the wall. For five minutes straight we had to listen to you bouncing this."

"Beckett, you're being -"

"What?" she snaps, tossing the rubber band ball back into the drawer. "I'm being what?"

He glances around the bullpen – people are starting to stare, losing the ability to pretend to be interested in their own job and instead letting their eyes slide to the two – and leans closer to her. "Can we talk where we don't have an audience?"

"Fine." She gets up, throwing the crushed-up paper into the recycle bin and grabbing the completed files that she saved from his paper airplane experiments. "I need to file this stuff. The records room should be quiet."

Castle trails her down the stairs – she refuses the elevator because the last thing she needs is him seducing her in the elevator car – and she does her best to ignore him. She signs into the records area, giving him a backwards glance that doesn't exactly say _stay put_ but definitely isn't an open invitation. Still, he does what he always does and follows into the racks of bankers boxes.

She moves to the very back where the newest cases are shelved. He pauses at the top of the aisle as she finds the right boxes, sliding the folders of finished paperwork into place. Her fingers curl around the top of the boxes after she replaces the lids. She had hoped the walk downstairs would calm her down, make her realize she was going overboard with her frustration.

It hadn't.

"You bored here?" she asks, turning to face him. "Is that what it is?"

"No. Beck -"

"Then what is it?"

His back connects with one of the shelves, halting his backwards retreat. "Nothing. Just… Paperwork isn't the most exciting -"

"Yeah, well, it's not like this is your first time sitting around while I work on forms. Why the sudden need to act like you're nine?"

"Oh, we both know I'm not nine," he starts, taking the risk and running his fingertips up her forearm.

She jerks away from him, angry at the shiver of arousal that coasts up her arm. "Can't you be serious for, like, two minutes? We're at _work_, Castle. My work. You can't treat this like your personal playground where you can just -"

The rest of her rant is cut off when he wraps his hands around her upper arms and forces her back against one of the other shelves. A squeak echoes in the back of the room – even Kate isn't sure if it's from her or the ancient shelves. She does know that when she raises her eyes, wide and surprised by his sudden change, she finds his dark and some mix of irate and aroused.

"What're you -"

"You think that's all this is for me, Beckett?" he growls, mouth an inch from hers. "You think that the Twelfth is just a fucking park swingset for me? That you're only a damn game piece I'm playing with? That what you think, Kate?" He spits her name from his lips, taking her aback.

Her voice is less steady than she hoped when she finally responds. "That's not what I meant…"

He ignores her protest, stepping closer and forcing her up onto her toe tips. "The hell it wasn't. We knew who the other was when we started this. You cannot start blaming me for this now."

She tries to interject, fighting her way past indignation and the thread of fear running through her veins. But he keeps going, hands tightening around her biceps.

"Want me to list off the things about you that annoy me?" he murmurs against her cheek, lips coursing over her jaw. Not a kiss but something else entirely. "You clean your gun at the table. The dining room table, Beckett. The place where we eat." His fingers travel down her arms to her sides, grasping the hem of her shirt. Only the tips of his fingers touch her stomach. "You never do the dishes. Ever."

She refuses to raise her arms when he tugs on the shirt, narrowing her eyes at him.

He bracelets her wrists, anchoring them over her head. With the free hand, he works at shimmying the shirt up, just far enough over her head to trap her shoulders. When he lets her arms fall, they're stuck behind her. He twists her, pushing her front against the shelves, leaning into her so that his mouth is at her ear.

"You remake the bed even after I've done it."

She arches away from him, hissing when her bare stomach comes in contact with the metal shelving. "You make it wrong," she retorts, already fighting to get her shirt off completely. "We need to go back upstairs."

"Not happening." He spins her, crowding so that his feet rest between her heels. "Cut me some slack."

"Not happening," she says, throwing his words back at him as she drops the t-shirt onto the ground. "So suck it up."

His hands fumble against the button on her pants, pulling at the zipper. "Sometimes I really can't stand those stupid quirks you have, Beckett."

God, how can he even talk when his fingers are sliding under her panties and along her folds. One of her legs creep up to hook around his knee which only serves to tighten the fabric of her dress pants against his hand as he slips two fingers into her without warning.

"Yeah," she gasps, head tipped back against the shelf as she struggles for air. "Well, same goes." Her own hands, free from the restraints of her own clothing, work at his pants, cupping him through the fabric.

He doesn't stop, doesn't even hesitate and she wants to hate him a little more in the moment when his thumb presses against her and she has to bite down on his neck to stop from moaning. Her tongue laves over the mark, making its way up to his ear. "Move faster."

Castle snakes his free hand between them, helping her with his belt and the zipper of his pants. His fingers, still hidden from view down the front of her pants, don't stall even as he shoves the waistband of his dress pants down enough to free himself. "Up," he says, wrapping his hand around her thigh so he can boost her up after helping her shake one of her legs from the pants, letting her hook her legs around his waist.

"Now," Beckett bites out against his cheek. "Now!"

He goes slowly, easing his fingers out after curling them in her one last time and making her whimper. He enters her leisurely, savoring her groan, part frustration and part relief.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you," she manages, tightening her legs in an attempt to pull him deeper. "Castle…" She sinks her teeth into his ear causing him to push forward.

And then it's frenzied and she only just has time to fuse her mouth to his so she doesn't scream. His tongue dives into her, stroking hotly along the roof of her mouth in time with his thrusts. The shelves squeak and she can faintly hear some of the banker's boxes shifting.

She sobs into him, forehead touching his as she begs, pleads for him to let her go over. The man slows down. Beckett curves away from him, glaring through slitted eyes. Her breathing is heavy as she teeters on the edge. "Dead man. You're a dead man."

"Would a dead man be able to make you do this?" he asks as he draws out completely, taking her breath with him, before pushing into her, giving his hips a twist that has her shattering around him.

He holds her against him even as she squirms back. His voice is quiet, gentle compared to the almost harsh anger from seconds earlier when he presses his cheek to hers as she gasps. "Just catch your breath," he whispers.

She drops a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm good."

Castle lowers her, helping her untangle the loose pant leg and slide her foot into it and her abandoned heel. "Turn around," he says, his hand a soft pressure on her shoulder. She hesitates for a moment before facing the shelf, fingers curling along the metal. His hands coast over her back, checking for bruises, marks from the bolts. He bends over, snagging her shirt and handing it to her. "Here."

She pulls it over her head and he tugs her hair from under the collar. When she turns, she grabs his hand. "I lied. Before." Her fingers are busy re-buckling his belt but she keeps her eyes on his. "I may dislike your annoying quirks but I do love you. I do." In her heels all she has to do is lean forward and brush her lips over his. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," he murmurs, running a hand over her tousled hair. "I'll go home, come back tomorrow. And I promise I'll be…"

Beckett puts her forefinger over his lips. "Don't change, Castle. I love you. You. Okay?" She pivots, wrapping her hair up into a bun so it looks less obvious. He's behind her, his shoes clicking faintly on the concrete floor.

"By the way?" he calls as they reach the entrance to the room and Beckett has the clipboard to sign-out in her hands. He's leaning over her shoulder so even the desk sergeant can't hear him. "I think it's hot when you clean your gun at the table."


End file.
